Morning came too quickly.
I'd barely slept after returning from Sebastian's pre-dawn adventure. The memory of his coat draped around me, the warmth of his coffee in my hands, still clung to my skin like smoke. But Elysian Prep doesn't pause for restless queens, and daybreak meant duty.
Only this morning, duty came with eyes. Too many eyes.
I felt them before I heard them—the shift in the air as I walked through the rotunda, the sharp hush of whispers snapping closed the moment I drew near. It wasn't just curiosity. It was hunger.
By the second period, I understood why.
Someone had taken a photo.
Blurry, grainy, but unmistakable: Sebastian Blackwell at the steps of the Glass Palace, opening his car door as I slipped inside, the clock above the gate screaming dawn.
The caption circulating beneath it was worse:
"The Queen and the Black Sheep—secret rendezvous?"
It was enough. Enough to feed the wolves.
The whispers followed me like shadows down the marble corridors.
By the time I reached the lecture hall, the whisper had grown teeth.
"Did you hear? Seraphina Valmont and Sebastian Blackwell—"
I didn't catch the rest. I didn't need to.
Because every gaze that flicked to me carried the same hungry gleam.
I sat down in my usual place, spine ruler-straight, face schooled into icy perfection. A Valmont does not flinch.
Penny leaned close, her curls brushing my shoulder. "Tell me it isn't true," she whispered, her tone more hopeful than horrified.
I arched a brow. "What exactly is it?"
"That you and Sebastian—" Her lips curved into a scandalous grin. "—have been sneaking off together. Late nights. Secrets. Oh, Sera, the entire school is buzzing."
I didn't move. Didn't blink. "Buzzing is what flies do, Penny. Shall I remind you what happens to flies?"
Her grin faltered, but the damage was already done. I could feel the room prickling with tension, waiting for me to crack.
But I didn't. I wouldn't.
Because the truth was far worse than rumor.
The truth was that some nights, when I closed my eyes, I could still feel the ghost of Sebastian's hand lingering on mine.
By lunch, the rumors had become performance. Tables whispered louder when I walked by. A group of boys snickered when Sebastian strolled into the dining hall, late as always, his jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder.
And then—he had the audacity to sit across from me.
"Queen," he drawled, stealing an apple from the fruit bowl at my elbow. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
The hall went silent.
I didn't look at him. I cut into my salad with surgical precision. "Lovely for some. Pity for others."
His smirk curved, dangerous. "Rumors must be hard to outrun in heels."
My knife stilled. I raised my eyes to his, cool as glass. "For some of us, Sebastian, rumors are just noise. For others—" I let my gaze travel over him, slow, dismissive. "—they're the only legacy they'll ever have."
A murmur rippled through the tables.
But Sebastian only grinned wider, like I'd given him a gift. "Careful, Queen. Keep talking like that, and people might actually believe you care."
That night, at home, the whispers had already preceded me.
The Glass Palace glittered as always, chandeliers spilling gold across endless marble, but the air was taut as a drawn bow.
Marcus Valmont, my father, waited at the head of the dining table. His gaze was sharp, his tone sharper still.
"Sit."
I obeyed. My mother's silence was the quiet kind, the kind that meant disapproval had already been carved in stone.
Marcus folded his hands. "I've tolerated much from you, Seraphina. But I will not tolerate this."
"This?" I asked, keeping my voice even.
"The Blackwell boy." His lip curled around the words as if they were poison. "You've been seen with him. Working late. Alone. And now the entire school whispers as though you've forgotten who you are."
My fork trembled in my grip. I forced it still. "We are co-leading the fundraiser. That is all."
"Do not insult me." His voice thundered through the chamber. "You are a Valmont. We do not consort with traitors. We bury them."
Silence fell, heavy as chains.
My mother's hand fluttered against the stem of her wineglass, but she did not meet my eyes. She didn't need to. The verdict had already been handed down.
Marcus leaned closer, his gaze pinning me to my chair. "Stay away from Sebastian Blackwell. Or you will find that the crown you covet is the heaviest weight of all."
Later, alone in my room, I stared at my reflection in the mirrored vanity.
Perfect posture. Perfect curls. Perfect mask.
And yet beneath it, my pulse was wild. My thoughts were louder than the rumors that had set the school ablaze.
Because for the first time, I wondered—
If I obeyed, if I cast Sebastian aside like the liability he was, would I be keeping my crown… or losing myself?
-----
Sebastian's POV
Sebastian scrolled through the photo on his phone, jaw tight.
It wasn't the picture that angered him. It was the way the school devoured it. Elysian Prep lived for scandal, thrived on ruin, and this—this was gasoline poured on open flame.
The photo had hit the feeds at sunrise. By eight, it was already spreading into the wider city. By nine, he'd used every Blackwell contact worth their salt to pull it down. The post was gone, scrubbed, buried—though the whispers it left behind would linger like smoke.
He leaned against the hood of his car, arms folded, watching the ivory facade of Elysian Prep.
They thought it was entertainment. A queen and a black sheep. A crown slipping.
But Sebastian knew better.
The Valmonts wouldn't laugh. They'd sharpen their knives.
For the first time since setting foot back into this city, he wondered if his games had gone too far. If teasing her, pushing her, pulling her into his orbit, had just painted a target on her back.
And he hated—truly hated—that the thought of her bleeding because of him made his chest ache.
He flicked the photo off his screen, but the image wouldn't leave him: her hair haloed in dawn light, his coat hanging loose on her small frame, her eyes wide with sleep but still regal enough to own the morning.
Reckless, impossible girl.
Sebastian shoved his phone in his pocket, forcing his mouth into a smirk as he pushed off the car.
If they thought rumors could scare him off her, they'd forgotten one thing:
Blackwells don't run from fire. They set it.